I could hear the MONKEES as they came through the set of “I Dream of Jeannie.” They were laughing at something Davy had said. You know, I’d always wanted to meet the MONKEES, so naturally, when they came close to my bottle, I rocked it to attract their attention. They noticed, all right; they pulled the cork out. I’m kept inside by Major Nelson when we’re not working on a show, so I won’t cause any trouble. I don’t think it’s fair. But I sure did cause trouble for the MONKEES.
It started when I drifted out of my bottle, and the MONKEES wanted to know if I would grant them three wishes (which is traditional with us Genies).
Well, that would have come to too many wishes. Three each would have been twelve, and that’s an awful lot of work; besides, each wish has to be reported in triplicate, and I’m slow at typing.
We compromised. I gave them each one, which came to four wishes, one more than is my custom. Of course, I warned them to be careful about their wishes. I really did. You know what can happen. And it did.
Davy takes the plunge
After they left, I sat around a while. Suddenly I got a wish thrown at me. That’s very surprising, you know, to get a wish wished at you out of nowhere. I immediately granted it, but I couldn’t figure out why such a cute guy like Davy would want to be one foot taller than Micky. But there it was; Davy was seven feet one inch tall. Only trouble was, he was still only 117 pounds, naturally. And his clothes didn’t fit. I popped over to see what was going on; I stayed invisible, of course.
“Well?” asked Davy. “What do you guys think?”
“I dunno,” said Micky. “You look something like a mop standing on its end. You could use a new mop head.”
They all went out to buy Davy some clothing. I followed.
Davy bought a dark blue wool pinstriped suit, but it had to be made to order because he was so tall. I wanted to help, but Genie rules forbid it. His shoes were size 19 triple E. “My,” said the salesman, “You certainly have a big understanding.” All the salesmen were like that that day. Suddenly, a big crowd of girls came running over, and got autographs from Micky, Peter and Mike. But nobody asked Davy for an autograph. One of the girls did remark that he looked something like Davy, “except that the cutest thing about Davy,” she said, “is that he’s so little and cuddly!” So they all left. Davy, very unhappy, mumbled something about going home until he figured out what to do.
“Davy…” called Peter.
“What?” asked Davy.
“Don’t” said Peter.
“Stand up” added Mike.
“Too suddenly,” finished Micky.
Peter makes a boo boo
“You know, I’ve been thinking…” said Peter on the way back to the studio, “about how nobody ever takes me seriously. Everybody thinks I’m really as stupid as I act on the show. I wish everybody would take me seriously and treat me as an intellectual.”
Just then, we entered the gate, and as we did, a Western Union messenger handed Peter a telegram. It said:
PETER. WRITE A FUNNY BOOK ABOUT YOUR STUPID EXPERIENCES.
FOR A HILARIOUS FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS. LOVE, ANN MOSES.
“I can’t do that,” Peter said as he tore up the telegram. “People would laugh.” And he was serious! “Say, fellows,” he continued, “I understand they have a simply smashing symposium on semantics at the museum. Shall we be off?”
“What does semantics mean, Peter?” asked Micky.
“Why, semantics is the meaning of meaning,” he explained.
“Oh. That’s what I was afraid of.”
When we got to the museum, everybody was already at the auditorium, waiting to hear the speakers.
“At a symposium,” explained Peter, “everybody is allowed to give an opinion.”
“Oh,” said Mike, scratching his head and looking questioningly at Micky, “I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, it’s quite true, fellows. After all, E Pluribus Unum!”
“I’ve seen that on the back of a dollar bill!” said Micky.
“Yes, indeed, Micky,” Peter agreed.
“What’s it mean?” asked Mike.
“Why, it means, ‘out of many, one!’ explained Peter, crossing his arms and leaning against a rather large man in a business suit.
“One what?” asked Micky.
“Where did you see it?” asked Peter.
“I saw it,” said Micky, “on the back of a dollar. But what does it mean?”
“Why, one dollar, of course!” said Peter triumphantly. Just then another crowd of girls came running up. They all asked for autographs. Micky wrote some beautiful things. And so did Mike. But when the girls got their books back from Peter, one of them said “E Pluribus Unum?”
“Why did you write latin in my book?” asked another.
“Come on, girls,” said a third. “He’s no fun any more. He’s so serious!”
Peter said something about going back to Davy’s place, to help him sit around and be miserable. Oh, if only they hadn’t found my bottle! But that wasn’t the worst part. No, indeed.
“Well, Mike, I know exactly what I want,” said Micky. “It’s right here at the museum.’ But I won’t make the same mistakes Davy and Peter made. I’ll be careful! Now, let’s see… I wish for the most beautiful girl who ever existed. Right here beside me. Just exactly the way she was at the height of her beauty. I want Cleopatra!”
Suddenly, (I’m very prompt at wish-granting) there she was.
The museum guards and a curator came running up. They said Micky couldn’t take her with him, since she was property of the museum. But Micky argued that since she was alive, she could go anywhere, and she wasn’t anybody’s property. The curator reluctantly agreed.
“What did she say?” asked Micky eagerly.
“Where’s Julius?” translated the curator.
“Julius who?” Micky wanted to know.
“Julius Caesar. She loves him, you know.”
“Uh oh,” said Micky, worried. “I must have forgotten to add that she should love me. Nobody loves me.” He started to sniffle a bit, and then said, bravely, “Oh well, here’s this chance to have the most beautiful woman who ever lived love me and I blew it. Easy come, easy go.”
“Now what did she say?” Micky asked the curator. “Did she say she’ll try to love me, and perhaps someday we’ll find a new happiness together, walking hand in hand into an autumn sunset?”
“No,” said the museum curator. “She asked: ‘who’s the kid?’”
After Mike had seen all that had happened to Davy and Micky and Peter it was easy to talk him into using his wish to reverse the others. It’s a good thing, too. I think he would have sounded funny with the Oxford accent he was about to wish for. Major Nelson found them, back at Screen Gems. I was invisible again.
“Say, you’re the MONKEES, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we are. You must be Major Nelson.”
“Right. Say, have you seen Jeannie?”
“Nope, not recently,” said Davy.
“Well, if you do, watch out,” said Major Nelson, “she’ll offer a wish, and if you use it, you can get into real trouble.”